I walk the hall of many places
the streets of blooming and barren cities
and the molding of rooms full and empty
is my footpath.
These are not new haunts, or lurks, for me;
I have sat in the shadows of giants,
nursed at the teet of revolutions,
And spoken into the ear of power there
from my beige on beige perches and portals.
Those who possess kind words leave only
sheer slugs trails of personal expression and experience
My near invisibility intact when I, seated, am near
when the exchange of profession and proclamations
of projects produced are rung out.
My history, footprints, leave no trace there
and there is no reminders as to where I have tread.